


A Geisha Again

by richhousewife



Series: A Geisha-Boy [3]
Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Explicit Language, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26397754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richhousewife/pseuds/richhousewife
Summary: “I see no purpose in dwelling on actions already done.”“And if you could undo them?”Sesshomaru’s brow furrowed. He thought to that night, to Inuyasha’s body swallowed by Sesshomaru’s own—a chase, the feral satisfaction of predator against prey. A monster. Inuyasha’s eyes who couldn’t look at him any other way.--The ending Inuyasha deserved. A compilation of one-shots from the Geisha Boy universe.
Relationships: InuYasha/Sesshoumaru (InuYasha)
Series: A Geisha-Boy [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1363801
Comments: 19
Kudos: 111





	A Geisha Again

**Author's Note:**

> Love you guys!

_Inuyasha_

Inuyasha hated writing.

What was the obsession anyway, right? If he had something to say, he’d fucking say it.

“What’s the _point_?” he’d muttered, fingers trembling with concentration as he tried to mimic the sensei’s character for _sea_.

The result was an otter looking creature, its ocean a mirage of smudges by his own hand.

Good enough.

There was muffled laughter across the way, two younger geisha nearly crumpling their rice paper in their mirth, ink and quill abandoned atop the cool of the hardwood.

Inuyasha evened his eyes, gaze darting to their sensei as he sat distractedly atop bent knees, glasses midway down his nose and eyes scanning a scroll long enough to pool against aged thighs.

“Hey,” he whispered, shuffling over on quiet paws, “What you guys on about?”

They glanced to each other as he approached, smirking into the sleeves of their robes.

“Doubt _you_ would understand.” The smaller demon mocked, sending his partner into full laughter here, fire red curls bouncing with his mirth.

Inuyasha scowled, “And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?” he said, eyes bouncing between the two of them as their laughter twisted their mouths into smirks, as they glanced to each other again, falling silent; minds churning.

There were a few shots of silence before the fox demon shifted, before he’d dropped his hands from his face, craning his neck to reveal a purpling bruise just above his collar bone.

Inuyasha blinked.

“I’m so lost.”

This started their fits of laughter all over again.

They attempted to straighten when eying the hanyou’s darkening expression, snorting into their robes, cheeks red with the supposed hilarity of it all. It wasn’t until Inuyasha had his fist cocked that they suddenly remembered their tongues.

“ _Okay_ —sorry,” the taller one started, still trying to catch his breath, “It’s just—the rumors…” a few more puffs of breath, “It’s true that the silver prince has truly tried _nothing_ with you?”

Inuyasha could feel himself reddening at the mention of Sesshomaru, confusion tying his tongue.

What’d Sesshomaru have to do with anything?

In front of him, his counterpart smirked.

“This…” the bird demon started again, gesturing to the soft spot on the column of the fox’s neck, “…Is from a sort of… kiss.”

Inuyasha looked to it again, a smudge of purple against a sheet of white. He could feel his brow furrow.

The fox laughed again, bright eyes hot upon Inuyasha, “…Has your king _even_ done that?”

* * *

_Sesshomaru_

A darkness flared up in Sesshomaru each time his eye caught the smoothness of his inu’s neck—skin uninterrupted; unbitten. The beast in him did not understand the complexity of time’s reversal, did not see how a scar it’d intended to mean forever was now no more.

What’s worse, Sesshomaru did not know if replacing his mark would break his vow—if claiming the hanyou _again_ would equate violence in the eyes of the mighty sorceress. His mind flashed back then, to buckled white hands softened with age, to the glittered shadow of light filtering through stained glass, spotting cluttered walls with a rainbow of color. To her words, like metal on concrete.

_You will not harm anyone unless provoked, will kill no more for sport, will not punish, torture, or torment another soul so long as you live…_

Her words haunted him. A punishment of their own making; a constant monkey on his back.

It’d put him in quite the foul mood.

Even now— _especially_ now—as the hanyou sat in front of him, their knees near touching as the inu bent his back to reach the rice paper on the ground between them, uneven atop the grass of the field. His ears stood ramrod straight within the mess of his hair, as if their alertness would help the task at hand. Sesshomaru frowned, watching Inuyasha’s contorted expression with disdain as the inu sat, the inked brush tangled within his fingers and the writing left on the page abhorrent and illegible.

He’d smirked when he was done, eyes jumping to Sesshomaru’s and to the paper again with cocky satisfaction—as if he’d actually _done_ something here.

“Read it and weep.” He’d hummed, spinning the paper so that it sat right side up for the full blood to see.

His eyes swept misshapen characters tonelessly, frowning at the mess of inky black fingerprints spotting the papers surface, the words lost amidst the mess of the page.

“Hn…” he began, “…weep, indeed.”

Inuyasha snorted, unphased, “Like you could do better."

Sesshomaru said nothing, frowning as he plucked the ink and its quill from messy blackened claws. The underside of the page was clean against Sesshomaru’s brush strokes, the characters of the hanyou’s name forming effortlessly; a flawless recreation that Inuyasha watched with a frown so deep, it creased shadows between his brow.

“Keh.” He muttered, stretching then, falling unto his back with exasperation and causing an eruption of dandelion fuzz to be pushed up into the air by the weight of his middle, “Only pussies can write that good. So congrats, I guess.”

Sesshomaru gave no response, distracted now, striped lids exposed as he looked to the hanyou, eyes roaming the length of his torso, lean and ample beneath the cotton of his yukata. The strength in the hanyou’s shoulders was growing each day it seemed, sturdy and strong beneath the hard line of his jaw.

Sesshomaru wanted nothing more than to straddle him right there, to wrap his fingers around the column of his inu’s neck, to bare sun stained skin in submission to his king.

He felt his teeth clench.

“Wanna spar?” the hanyou piqued, glancing to the full blood then, mischief in the set of his brow.

Sesshomaru could feel himself souring further still, “No.” he’d said, looking passed the hanyou now, watching the flicker of fireflies bob against the purpling sky.

“Why not?” he’d said, rising, shuffling so that he sat on bent knees, “Scared?”

Sesshomaru watched the hanyou smirk, the full of his lips curling with it, the brightness in his eyes lit with excitement. Sesshomaru watched him and thought to the Inuyasha he’d left behind, the Inuyasha whose stare was as vacant as the dead.

“Hn,” he’d spoken, eventually, “More than you know, inu-hanyou.”

Inuyasha grinned then, graduating to his hunches—knees bent, knuckles to the ground—ready to pounce.

Sesshomaru tensed near immediately, repulsion tainting his features as his gaze darted down to black stained fingers and back again, “ _Inuya_ —”

Inuyasha’s weight was like that of a small horse to Sesshomaru’s middle, dense and _heavy_. 

His back had hit the ground with a thud, a growl ripping from behind his teeth reflexively, the dew of the earth seeping through the silk of his yukata and painting the skin of his back with licks of moisture. The prince had been taken by surprise by it, by the power behind the geisha’s small frame—but only for a moment.

He’d flipped them with less time than it took to exhale.

Inuyasha’s laughter was an eruption of noise from beneath Sesshomaru’s weight, his frame shuttering with the humor of it all. Sesshomaru’s features remained twisted in disdain, stare trained to the bellow of his sleeves, to the mess of his kimono now open and hanging from his body, smeared in ink and earth and _Gods_ only knew what else.

The summer air was still and comfortable amongst them, the sky near done its transition into night and the stars just beginning to poke through the fog of evening. Yellowed eyes had counted seventeen stains upon the white of his wardrobe before his ears picked up on the silence, the whisper in the trees made that much louder, the hustle of liquored bodies echoing from the distance. Sesshomaru paused.

This Inuyasha was near never silent.

He dropped his gaze then, looking to the geisha with brow raised; questioning.

Inuyasha clipped his jaw shut with a _click_ , eyes shifting almost immediately as a blush dusted his cheeks, as his ears lay flat against the mess of his hair.

Interesting.

“Something ails you.” Sesshomaru spoke, eyes never leaving his counterpart.

He reddened further, “Keh,” he started, eyes darting to Sesshomaru and away again, “Probably just your dog breath in my face.”

Sesshomaru felt his eyes even.

Inuyasha was… flustered.

Interesting indeed.

Sesshomaru had learned early on that silence discomforted this Inuyasha. Absence of noise made him nervous, made his eyes shift with it, made him fidget in his seat. It had become Sesshomaru’s favorite weapon.

So, he waited.

It didn’t take long.

“It’s just… have you ever—” he stopped abruptly, chewing his bottom lip through his embarrassment.

Sesshomaru remained, patient through his fumbling. He watched as the hanyou huffed in frustration, as he crossed cotton clad arms across his chest, as oversized ears lay flat against the geisha’s scalp.

“Just wondering if you ever… kissed anyone, is all.”

Sesshomaru blinked.

The beast in him roared within his chest.

Below him, Inuyasha met his eyeline at last, determined, bold now that the secret was past his teeth. And Sesshomaru felt the flame light within his gut, felt the pull of his beast as he looked down to the bright in his inu’s eyes, near glowing within the dim light of evening.

Sesshomaru looked to him and remembered the rough bruising of crushed lips, of the sweetness of Inuyasha’s pained whine against Sesshomaru’s tongue. He remembered the soft skin of Inuyasha’s shoulder, of the bend of muscle, of tender flesh under his teeth—a kiss of a different nature. He thought to how his violence was engrained in all things, even his affection.

Sesshomaru looked to him and frowned.

Below him, Inuyasha bristled, “What—you don’t _want_ to?”

Inuyasha’s emotions were many and often. This new Inuyasha who had ten different ways to smile, who yelled in response to near everything—joy, surprise, hilarity—who could go from stomping in frustration to shivering with laughter in less time than it took to blink. Somedays, it seemed like Inuyasha felt more emotion in a day than Sesshomaru did in a year.

Just then, his eyes flashed it seemed twenty different ways—hurt and confusion amongst the only ones Sesshomaru could catch for the quickness of it, the sheer volume in his expressions too loud and various to latch onto. In the end, he chose anger.

Sesshomaru wishes he could say that he was surprised.

* * *

_Inuyasha_

“What—you don’t _want_ to?” Inuyasha spat, his eyes evening as he looked to the soft frown bending Sesshomaru’s lips, to the disdain he could near feel emanating from the full blood at the mere mention of touching Inuyasha in that way.

Why didn’t he want to? Did Inuyasha stink?

He let his nose flare, nostrils twitching as he sniffed for his own scent.

Sweet with a side of sour. Nothing _too_ bad.

So, was Sesshomaru saying… that he didn’t _like_ Inuyasha?

He felt himself blink in his confusion, thoughts running a mile a minute before settling into embarrassment, then hurt, then more confusion. Then, finally, anger.

“ _Let_ — _me_ — _up_ —” he spat, struggling, voice jumping as he yanked in attempt free himself. Sesshomaru was _huge,_ even bigger now it seemed as Inuyasha lay trapped below, his temper flaring as he fought against what felt like two hundred pounds of muscle topped off with another twenty pounds of hair.

Inuyasha refused to look at him as he struggled.

Refused to think about the reason behind why this realization was cutting to the meat, why it stung like a wound.

When Sesshomaru next spoke, it was with the deep of his voice rumbling against the damp of Inuyasha’s skin, yellowed irises glowing against the low light of evening.

“Calm yourself.”

Inuyasha clenches his teeth so hard, he feels it in his temple.

“ _Fuck_ _you_.” He hisses, managing to drag the upper part of his body free with a grunt. Inuyasha could feel Sesshomaru’s disapproving stare like beams of heat to side of his skull. He was getting angry.

Good.

Inuyasha continued, _more_ insistent now—clawing the dewy grass, dragging his heels in the earth.

Sesshomaru’s hand to the heat of Inuyasha’s neck was without pressure; a warning.

Or a bluff.

Inuyasha couldn’t decide which.

He met evened yellow eyes with bravado he didn’t feel, his mouth twisted into a grimace, a nonverbal challenge. _I dare you_ Inuyasha wanted to say. His feelings may be hurt, but he’d do boring writing assignments the rest of his life before he showed it.

Silence filled the air between them, Sesshomaru’s fingers steady and cool atop Inuyasha’s skin, eyes never leaving the other. The deep blue striping his lids was exposed here, as he looked down his nose at Inuyasha, a stroke of darkness framing the bright of his eye. Inuyasha noticed, not for the first time, how powerful Sesshomaru’s jawline was, how bold his markings sat against the white of his skin. Strong.

Beautiful.

Inuyasha scowled. Betrayed by his own thoughts.

“You will explain the meaning of this—”

“I ain’t gonna explain _shit_ —”

“We will remain here until you do.”

A pause. Inuyasha knew he meant that.

He glared, “You can kiss my ass, Sesshomaru.”

Silence.

Sesshomaru’s royal blue crescent set ablaze by the moonlight, the pink of his lips gently downturned.

More silence.

Inuyasha felt himself snap.

“I thought you _fucking_ liked me, okay?!” he sneered, eyes screwed shut here, “Just forget it!”

Inuyasha kept his eyes closed after the confession, wishing on all the stars in the all the skies that Sesshomaru would just leave him there—would allow him to wallow in his embarrassment and die in peace.

“I do not like you.” Sesshomaru responded.

Well. So much for that.

If Inuyasha thought he was embarrassed _before_ ….

Perhaps if he _played_ dead—

“Like would not begin to describe the extremity of my…” Sesshomaru stopped, “…attachment to you.”

Wait.

Inuyasha blinked his eyes open, looking up to the full blood from his tangled position against the grass. He wished—for _once_ —Sesshomaru would speak like a fucking person. It seemed to Inuyasha that Sesshomaru used more words in a day than Inuyasha did in a year.

But—it sounded… almost like Sesshomaru was saying that he liked him too… right?

There was a split second of space, of raw _something_ sparking between them both and before Inuyasha could comprehend it, before he could even let his brain catch up with the happenings of things, Sesshomaru was there, closer, his forehead bumping Inuyasha’s, mile long strands of the silver prince’s hair whispering against the surface of his face.

The yellow of Sesshomaru’s irises were almost hypnotizing this close, blinding, flecked with a color Inuyasha didn’t have the vocabulary to even name and as they sat, as serious as he’d ever seen them.

“I will not hurt you.”

Inuyasha felt his breath catch in his throat, his heartbeat an erratic rhythm under the pad of the daiyoukai’s fingers.

He wasn’t sure which one of them Sesshomaru was trying to convince.

And then, there it was.

The softest touch, Sesshomaru’s lashes fair and glittering against magenta markings as he let his eyes close, as he met his lips with Inuyasha’s. The clawed hand at his throat was a steady weight, Sesshomaru’s thumb giving the barest of pressure, as if it wanted so much more as Sesshomaru fell deeper, increasing his weight upon Inuyasha’s mouth and Inuyasha gasped into it—unused to the feelings starting within the heat of his belly.

This in itself was all Sesshomaru needed, swallowing Inuyasha’s inhale, the kiss turning quicker, deeper, _more_. Sesshomaru tasted like spiced tea against Inuyasha’s tongue, fangs knocking his own, the hand on his throat stronger here—hungry for it, for Inuyasha, for all he had to give.

Inuyasha didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know what was happening to his insides but he wanted to stay here forever—wanted to do _this_ until he passed out.

When Sesshomaru released him, it was to bite—his lower lip, his cheek, the soft skin right below his jawline—and Inuyasha whimpered at the sensation, at two-inch fangs painfully good against his neck, at pressure that was just enough not to break skin.

Sesshomaru’s hair was cool and soft against his fingers, his hands finding their way to the full blood’s skull; grasping.

In the end, he found out exactly how the fox got that bruise; a smudge of purple against a sheet of white.

* * *

_Sesshomaru_

The beast in him was nearly howling in satisfaction as bruises welted deep and dark across the hanyou’s throat—a mark of a different making—as Inuyasha lay, lips swollen and eyes hazy below him.

He was satisfied. For now.

Sesshomaru would always want more.

The rest he could wait for.


End file.
